A is for Adultery
by Muggleborn Weasley
Summary: She thought she would always love her husband, but she knew she would always love him more. TW: Mentions of abuse
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Ginny sat on the end of the bed staring at her hands, wishing he would say something. Oliver paced at the bottom of the bed staring at the floor, wishing she had said nothing at all. Time had as good as stopped since she told him, and her heart was in her mouth. He was almost certain his heart had stopped beating, it felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.

"So," he stopped pacing to look her in the eye, hard. "You're getting married." She could only nod, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Are you pregnant? Are you sure it's his? I know I dick around a lot, but I can step up. Give me a chance, Gin, you don't have to marry him."  
"Olly, I'm not pregnant." She refused to look up from the floor.  
"Do you love him?" This time it was he who couldn't make eye contact.  
"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" He thought about it. If she did love Potter, then it would crush him. If she didn't love Potter, then he was losing her to a loveless marriage. He couldn't decide which was worse. Well, he could.  
"Of course I want to know." If she couldn't be happy with him, she deserved to be happy with Potter.  
"I don't love him, Olly." She spoke so quietly that he was certain he'd misheard her. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and he immediately fell to his knees, taking her hands in his. "I don't love him," she balled, "But I have to marry him."  
"Run away with me. We'll go to America, or somewhere that nobody knows you. We'll get a house with a white picket fence. Two dogs, three kids and a big ugly muggle car. Nobody really knows yet, right?"  
"The announcement is in tomorrow's Prophet. That's why I had to see you tonight. Not to mention the fact that Harry proposed in the middle of Diagon Alley, so I imagine word's getting around pretty quickly."  
"He did not?!" Oliver sounded genuinely appalled. "That's not fair. He should have known that's not fair."  
"It doesn't matter where he proposed. I would have still had to say yes. His life is just once massive PR stunt now, and to be honest so is mine. What could possibly look better than The Boy Who Lived marrying his high school sweetheart?"  
"If The Boy Who Lived didn't trap a woman who doesn't love him in a sham of a marriage." She knew he was starting to get angry now, really angry. Not at her, but at Harry.  
"I know it's shit, but it's life. We just need to deal with it."  
"We?" There was just a hint of hope in his voice, light the first light of day just before the sun begins to rise. "You mean you don't want to end it?"  
"Of course I don't." She looked at him, as appalled as he had been just a few moments ago. "But I understand if you do. The fact that I'm getting married changes everything, doesn't it?" She resigned herself to the fact she had accepted long before entering his hotel room. She couldn't get married and keep him.  
"No, it doesn't have to change anything." He squeezed her hand and she looked at him.  
"Olly, you know that thing we swore we'd never say?" He nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. "I want you to know that I do."  
"I love you too."

She leaned in and kissed him like never before. It was as passionate as their first kiss had been over a year ago. At first she had felt awful for kissing him when she was with Harry, but then she thought about it and saw no reason to feel bad. Her relationship with Harry was one of habit – and in all honesty, a bit of a sham. With him it was passionate, caring and exactly what she wanted.

"You know," he broke the kiss, "I wouldn't have proposed in the middle of Diagon Alley."  
"You thought about proposing?" She looked at him as if he were mad, which he must have been if he was considering marriage.  
"Not really. It had crossed my mind once or twice, but I hadn't ever seriously thought about it. I thought I had a good five or six years before I had to start worrying about this stuff – I mean for Merlin's sake Gin, you're only twenty."  
"You sound like George. Now shut up and tell me how you'd propose." She laughed and shuffled up the bed a little, sitting up properly and crossing her legs.  
"Okay," he sprawled out in front of her, legs hanging off the end of the bed and holding his head up with one hand. "I'd wait for a nice day and demand we go flying. You'd think we were just blowing off steam, hanging out, hiding from Potter – all the things we usually do. I'd make it a race, but make sure to always stay ahead of you. We'd fly to that hill we had a picnic on last September, and we'd have a picnic. After we had eaten, and laughed, and drank a bottle of wine – each – I'd then ask you to marry me." He dared to look up at her, and saw she was once again on the brink of tears – but judging by the smile that accompanied them, they were happy tears. He decided to drastically lighten the mood. "Then," he sat up. "I'd crawl over to you," he did so on the bed. "And I'd kiss you." Again, he did so. "Then I'd kiss your neck." As he kissed her neck, he pushed her down gently until she lay underneath him. "And then we'd have the hottest, dirtiest, kinkiest sex we've ever had. In fact, it would be so dirty," he kissed her neck again, "that I reckon we'd have to burn the picnic blanket. Which really would be a shame since it's my mothers, but it would be totally worth it." He winked.  
"You're ridiculous," she laughed, but he didn't reply. He was too busy kissing her neck and collar bone as he unbuttoned her shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

What was supposedly the best day of her life and the worst of his turned out to be exactly that. She had asked him if he wanted to be invited, and he respectfully declined. However, her future husband had insisted on inviting him – since he was such a good friend of hers and all. He made an excuse – unavoidable family commitments – and sent the happy couple his best wishes. The morning of the big day arrived and he decided he couldn't sit around and just allow this to happen, so he grabbed his broom, ran out the house and flew all the way to her childhood home.

When he arrived, the Weasley men were assembling a marquee. He waved hello to George, whom he had played Quidditch alongside at school, but otherwise kept going. He wasn't sure he could stomach talking to the family of the bride whom he was about to try and steal away. He knocked on the door, which was answered by a woman who could only be her mother. He introduced himself, explained that he couldn't stay for the wedding, but had dropped by to see the bride before he had to leave. The kind older woman let him in, asking no questions other than 'Would you like a cup of tea, dear? Perhaps a spot of breakfast?' He couldn't take her up on that offer, as famished as he was. He was here to try and, essentially, ruin everybody's day. It would just be plain rude to ask for hospitality whilst he did so.

"She's upstairs dear. Third door on your right."  
"Thank you." He nodded graciously, a knot forming in his stomach. He couldn't believe he was doing this.

He knocked on the third door on the right and was promptly given permission to enter.

"Can you give us a minute Hermione?" She asked in a tone that suggested it wasn't actually a question. The other woman took her leave and closed the door behind her. "What the hell are you doing here?" She looked beautiful. Angry, but beautiful. "We spoke about this last week Olly."  
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm not staying. I just had to see you." He felt so stupid being here. Of course she wouldn't leave with him.  
"I'm glad you came." She stood and closed the gap between them. She placed one hand on his chest and allowed his thumping heartbeat to calm her down. She looked at him, her engagement ring and her wedding dress, wishing so desperately that the three came as a package deal. She didn't say what she was thinking, but if he had asked her again to run away with him, she would have done it without so much as a second thought. "Does Harry know you're here?"  
"I haven't seen him, only your brothers and parents."  
"In that case I don't feel so bad about doing this." Even in her heels, she had to stretch to kiss him. For the first time since he was thirteen years old, he felt himself on the verge of tears. He felt robbed of an opportunity. It should be him elsewhere in the house getting ready to greet her at the other end of the aisle, not Potter.

They broke apart in due time, although neither of them wanted to. It wasn't supposed to, but this felt like a goodbye to the both of them.  
"Ginny Weasley, I," he couldn't get the words out for fear of the tears that would come with them.  
"I know." She reassured him. "I know you do." She couldn't bring herself to say it back, then it really would be a goodbye – and this definitely wasn't a goodbye.

They hugged for a long time, neither wanting to be the one to break it up. However, eventually they had to, as someone knocked on the door.  
"Come in." She called. It was the same woman who had left them earlier.

"I don't want to rush you Gin, but Fleur wants to get started on your hair and I can only say 'five more minutes' so many times."  
"It's okay," he spoke when she didn't. "I'm just leaving anyway. You look beautiful Ginny. Congratulations." And with that he left. She sat back down on the chair and wiped away the tears from her eyes.  
"Right, tell Fleur she can get at my hair." She spoke before the other woman could ask her what was wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

She felt bad for not being more upset when her husband told her he wouldn't be able to spend New Year's with her. He had to go away on Ministry business, which suited her just fine. She had spent Christmas with her husband and her family instead of with him, so really it was only fair that she got to spend New Year's with him – or that's how she saw it anyway. She sat on his couch in front of a roaring fire. She enjoyed not having to be as secretive as usual. Normally, they met in hotel rooms in the middle of the night to avoid being found out. However, this time she was able to walk right up to his front door and knock without any sneaking around – after all, there was nothing wrong with two friends spending New Year's together.

"So," he came back with a new bottle of wine, "How is married life treating you?"  
"Fine I suppose; it's only been five months." She shrugged, allowing him to fill her glass.

"Do you ever feel like we should have waited more than three weeks before defiling your vows?" He laughed.  
"Well, he's away with work a lot. What's a woman to do?" She joined it with the joke. Laughing made it easier for them to ignore how horrible their actions were. There were times she felt bad for cheating on Harry, but at the same time he cornered her in to the marriage. That's not to say she was unhappy, she cared very deeply for her husband, but their relationship was missing something. Something that came naturally to the chemistry she shared with him.  
"It's only just after eleven. We should send the year out with a bang." He wiggled his eyebrows ridiculously and suggestively.  
"Don't be so crude," she shoved his shoulder gently and laughed. Within a second they were kissing, both being careful not to spill red wine on his cream sofa. She quickly got fed up trying to be careful and took his glass off him and sat them both on the coffee table. She then threw one leg over the other side of his lap, gently straddling him. "Harry wants to start having kids, y'know." She told him glumly, playing with a loose thread in the collar of his jumper to distract herself from having to look at him.  
"You sound thrilled about motherhood."  
"Kids were never part of my plan, not for another seven or ten years at least."  
"Did you tell him that?"  
"Yeah, so naturally we're officially trying to get pregnant." He didn't know what to say. He was as angry as he had been when he first found out she was marrying Potter – angrier maybe. Every time he saw her, she had compromised more and more.  
"You can't give yourself up to him like that. You're entitled to as much of a say in your marriage as he is. I'd say your allowed more of a say when it comes to kids – given the biology of it all."  
"There's no point in getting angry about it now love, I've agreed and it's happening."  
"Tell him you've changed your mind then."  
"I wish it was as simple as that, but it's not. He's never had a family. The least I can do is give him one now."  
"You don't owe him shit, Ginny."  
"I know I don't, but I'm still doing this."  
"Why do you tell me these things if you don't listen to what I have to say?"  
"Because, you're the one person I can be honest with. My marriage is one huge lie and I'm lying to my friends and family about us all the time and then there's you." She kissed him, gently moving her hips, causing him to automatically hold his breath. "I can be myself with you, no secrets, and I don't want that to change, so I need to tell you these things before they start causing problems between us."

He thought it best just to hum in agreement as he had stopped listening as soon she has started rocking slowly forward and back. She could be such a tease at times, and whenever she decided to be a tease, she was quite capable of making the blood in his brain rush elsewhere. He hated the effect she had on him. Turning him from a grown man back into a horny teenager in a matter of seconds.

"Right, come on then." She lifted herself off his lap, reaching for her wine again. He had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself complaining like a child. "Dance with me." She stood up and crossed the room and put one of his muggle records on – _The Boy With the Arab Strap_ by Belle and Sebastian. The music wasn't to her taste, but the album was a good mixture of upbeat and slow songs. They jumped around the living room to the upbeat ones – he sang, she laughed – having the party of the century although it was just the two of them. Before too long, she started picking up the words too so they sang and danced and laughed and drank. Then there were some slower songs when they'd put they're drinks down and slow dance. Well, it wasn't so much dancing as it was embracing and swaying – and kissing, lots and lots of kissing. They danced well into the early hours of the morning, not caring that it was the same twelve songs playing on repeat. They didn't even notice the old year ending and the new one beginning. They were completely absorbed in one another. It was half past five before they collapsed into bed, drunk, exhausted and completely, utterly and entirely happy. For the first time since her wedding, she forgot to feel at least a little guilty about cheating on Harry. Coincidentally, it was also the first night of sound sleep for the first time since she said 'I do'.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was their second meeting since New Year's. She told him in a letter that she had news. He had written back asking if it was good news or bad news, she hadn't replied. She had now been sitting in the huge armchair in her hotel room for half an hour, chatting away but saying nothing about her news. He sat on the end of the bed growing more and more agitated. He knew by now it was bad news, if it had been good news she wouldn't have been able to keep quiet about it this long. He was so agitated that he didn't notice her rambling was an avoidance technique. She didn't want to tell him her news, it meant she'd lose him – probably. An affair was one thing, but it wasn't just her and her husband anymore.

"You're pregnant aren't you." He interrupted her rambling. He had thought through every possibility and couldn't think of anything else she would have to tell him that was somehow both good and bad news at the same time.  
"Yeah, and before you ask it's his." She had to shut him down before he asked and suggested, once again, that they run away and start a new life together. The baby was, without any shadow of a doubt, her husband's child but she wasn't so sure she would turn him down on the offer of a new start. She hadn't expected to fall pregnant so quickly – although she should have known. Fertility wasn't exactly a problem for the Weasley's.  
"When are you due?" He had to say something, he couldn't bear the silence.  
"November. Olly, I'm sorry. This is sooner than I wanted it to be, but it's happening and I can't change that."  
"You don't have to apologise to me. You made your decision when you married him."  
"This is it, isn't it?" She didn't want it to end, but it had too. There was no way she could leave Harry now, even if the thought had always been in the back of her mind.  
"It has to be; don't you agree?" She did, but she didn't want to. All she could do was nod; she didn't trust her words. "But we still have today. What will we do?"  
"Let's go into muggle London. We can go and see one of the muggle films you like so much."  
"But you hate the cinema," he was about to argue that they should do something they both enjoy, but she cut him off.  
"But I love you. Let's go." She stood and lifted her bag before he could argue.

She couldn't concentrate on the film, it was boring to her, but he was enjoying it and she was enjoying just sitting there, holding his hand and breathing in his aftershave. The screen lit up his face in flashing cool blues and warm golds. She couldn't decide which light was more flattering. He wasn't really watching the film either, he was thinking about how they must look to the people surrounding them. They must have looked like a normal, happy young couple enjoying an afternoon at the cinema. For the two hours or so that the movie ran, she wasn't married, her baby was his baby, he wasn't a mistress. They were happy.

All too soon, the credits rolled and they were brought forcefully back into reality. They went back to her hotel room with takeout food. They sat on the floor, feeding each other noodles, laughing and chatting – trying desperately to ignore the outside world. However, it was not as effective as going to the movies had been.

"You promise me something," his tone was all of a sudden serious.  
"That depends what it is."  
"Promise me Ginny, promise me that if he ever makes you unhappy you'll come back to me."  
"You can't wait around for me Olly. Please, don't wait."  
"I promise I won't wait, if you promise you won't make yourself miserable with him. In a year, or five, or ten. It doesn't matter. If you ever want to leave him, you come find me."  
"That sounds a lot like you'll wait." She took his hand. She couldn't stress how much she wanted him to move on, he deserved to be happy.  
"Just tell me you'll do it. Even if it means you're lying to me. It's the only thing that'll make loosing you any easier."  
"I'll do it." She wasn't sure she was lying, but she gave into him. "I should go now. He'll be wondering where I am."  
"You're right."

They both stood slowly, trying desperately to cling on to every last second. This was the goodbye they had narrowly avoided the day of the wedding and it felt a million times worse. She hugged him, intending to never let go. He hugged her back as tight as he could without hurting her. They spent as long as they could breathing each other in. It felt like one of them was dying. She quickly broke into tears, which sent him over the edge too. She hid her face in his chest and he ran a hand soothingly through her hair, allowing his own tears to roll silently down his face. After more than a few minutes, she looked up at him – eyes still bloodshot. She wiped the tears off his cheeks, keeping her hands on his face. She then closed the gap between their faces, however he stopped her before their lips touched.

"You're making it more difficult." His voice was low and husky; she could hear the lump in his throat caused by the tears.  
"I don't care. Nothing could make this anymore difficult. I don't want to go."  
"I know." He kissed her before he suggested something as stupid as her staying with him forever. He had to let her go. She was married, she was pregnant, she was growing up. It was time he allowed her to focus on her family. It killed him, but he had to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next two years passed much more quickly for her than they did for him. They had only seen each other once, at a Quidditch match. She had been with her husband, he had been with whatever girl he was seeing at the time – honestly, he couldn't remember her name. He had kept his promise to date other people. She hadn't kept her promise however. Over the two years, her marriage had started disintegrating – although they kept up appearances.

One cold, stormy, miserable November night, he was just about to get into bed when he thought he heard a knock at the door. A second later lightening flashed outside the window, so he put it down to his imagination, shrugged it off and got into bed.

Outside the door, she was left wondering what the hell had possessed her to come to his house. There was every chance he wasn't in, or that he had company. For all she knew, he could be married to the pretty girl she had seen him with at the Quidditch match. Then how would he explain her being at the door. While her mind was logically telling her to leave, her hand had knocked the door again – harder this time.

He opened the door slowly, unsure who would be looking for him at this time of night. She stood in front of him, soaked to the skin, miserable and crying – but still beautiful.  
"Can I sleep on your couch?" She balled. He didn't answer. He dragged her into the house and slammed the door closed, locking the horrible night out. He still hadn't said anything when he took her coat off and sat her down on the couch in front of the fire – which he instantly lit. He got a towel for her to dry her hair off and gave her his dressing gown. She was absolutely freezing, she would no doubt have made herself ill.

"What happened?" He eventually asked, sitting opposite her on the coffee table. She took a deep breath, determined not to cry again.  
"We had a fight. We've been fighting a lot recently, but he hit me this time." His expression hardened. He stood, ready to go and hunt Potter down – fully prepared to kill him if it came to it. "Would you sit down?" She tugged on his hand and he begrudgingly obliged. "I didn't stand for any of his shit. I told him to get out and when he didn't, I took the kids and I left."  
"Where are they?"  
"At my mum and dad's, but I couldn't stay there. Mum was asking all sorts of questions that I couldn't or didn't want to answer. I told her I was going out to clear my mind."  
"Let me put the kettle on. We can talk – or not talk, whatever you want to do." He stood, putting a hand on her shoulder. They had both forgotten how such an innocent touch felt.  
"Can I use your shower? I'm absolutely frozen."  
"Of course! You know where it is. Help yourself to dry clothes as well."  
"Thank you." She went upstairs to shower and he went to the kitchen to make tea.

Once the water was running upstairs and he was she wouldn't hear, he put the kettle on the stove and lined up all six of the unmatching mugs he owned. He promptly hexed every single one of them, unleashing his anger. He repaired them with a simple flick of his wand, then hexed them all again. He repeated this until the kettle whistled, then he made two cups of tea. He heard her coming down the stairs again just as he left the kitchen.

She curled herself up on the sofa at the opposite end from where he sat. She had wrapped herself up nice and warm in a pair of his cotton pyjama bottoms and an oversized woollen jumper and had her hair wrapped up in a towel turban. She thanked him for the tea when he handed it to her and, for the first time that day, she relaxed a little.  
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.  
"There isn't much to say. He shouted, I shouted, he hit me, I left. That's about it."  
"Are you going back?"  
"Not tonight, probably not anytime soon, but I'll have to at some point."  
"No, you don't. You should leave."  
"Just because he slapped me once? No, I can handle it Olly." Hearing her use his nickname was like a stab in the gut for both of them. She had only ever called him by his full name before they were together and since they had broken up.  
"Why leave at all if you were just going to go back?" He realised as soon as he said it that he sounded like a total prat, but either she didn't notice or she didn't care.  
"Because." She stopped herself. She had to consider carefully that which she was about to divulge. What had happened between her and Harry had been the darkest moment of her adult life. She started shaking her head frantically.  
"How bad can it be?"  
"You're not allowed to judge me for any of this." He nodded. "We put the kids to bed, and tensions had been running high all day but I thought it would maybe be okay now that we could just relax. Anyway, he picked a fight and I rose to the bait. Eventually the two of us were just standing screaming at each other and then I said something I shouldn't have and that's when he hit me."  
"What did you say?" He tried to keep his anger at bay, rather unsuccessfully it has to be said.  
"I told him that I wished I wasn't a mother." She couldn't bear to look at him. She was the worst person in the world. "I didn't even mean it, that's the thing. I only meant that I wished we had waited a few more years. Anyway, when he slapped me I pushed him away and pulled my wand on him. I had the Cruciatus Curse on the tip of my tongue. I thought for a second that I might do it, but instead I told him to get out. When he didn't, I did." She was in tears again by the end of her story.  
"Come here." He put his tea down and stretched his arms out. In all the years he had known her he had come to learn that she was more than capable of solving her own problems and, more often than not, all she needed was a hug.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

In the months that followed that night in November, they became reacquainted – after all, old habits die hard. He made sure their meetings were lighthearted and fun, she made sure never to talk of her marriage or her husband. More and more, he asked about the kids, wondering when he could start teaching them to play Quidditch – claiming 'Potter was good back in the day, but there's only one Oliver Wood.' Days spent together quickly became nights spent together, and nights spent together quickly became weekends away whenever they could manage. It was as if they had never ended their relationship.

The had agreed to spend the weekend before Valentines together as they knew they'd never be able to spend the day together. She didn't know it, but he had big plans. As usual, she lied to her friends and family, packed a bag and jumped on her broom. When she arrived, he was standing outside with his own broom in one hand and a picnic basket in the other. She hovered in front of him, not bothering to land and dismount – which was just as well really, because as she got lower to the ground he mounted his own broom.  
"I'll race you!" He yelled and shot off into the horizon. She sped after him. Flying really was the greatest feeling either of them knew.

It didn't take her too long to confirm her suspicions. She reckoned they were going to the hill they had picnicked on years ago, since he had a picnic basket. They flew for about twenty minutes, racing the whole way. She caught up to him a few times, but let him stay ahead of her. She could have flown circles around him, and they both knew it. She was faster and her broom was newer. It wouldn't even have been a competition. He started flying lower to the ground, ready to land, and she followed his lead.

The sight was even more beautiful than she remembered – even though it was a cold February afternoon and it had been a warm September evening the last time they were there. The hill overlooked a small meadow which had been covered in flowers of every colour last time, but was now covered in a thick layer of untouched snow. The stream at the other side of the meadow was frozen over, and the tree they had used for shade last time was now bare. It really was beautiful.

They made themselves comfortable on the blanket, kept warm by a simple heating charm. Outside of their little bubble, it was a bitterly cold day, but it didn't bother them. They were warm, comfortable, happy – and most importantly, they were together.

"Remember the last time we were here?" He asked, unpacking the basket as he spoke.  
"It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"  
"And somehow it feels like it was only yesterday at the same time. Red or white?" He was referring to the two bottles of wine he held, one in each hand.  
"Oh, I think I'll mix it up a little. Red please." She joked, she only ever drank red wine. White was much to bitter for her tastes. He poured her a glass and handed it to her. She inspected their feast as he attended to his own. There was certainly more than enough food for the two of them, however the entire selection consisted of chocolate frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Jelly Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties and other delicacies found on the Hogwarts Express or under a child's bed.  
"A feast fit for kings, wouldn't you agree?" He noticed her looking at the food, a smile threatening to appear on her lips.  
"More like a feast fit for children."  
"The wine is for grown-ups!" He defended his choices.  
"Honestly, how are you not morbidly obese?" She laughed, biting in to a pumpkin pasty. She knew this wasn't far off his usual diet as he'd never been one for cooking.

They sat and watched early afternoon become early evening. They watched the sunset, allowing the reds and golds of the fading day wash over them. Every time they finished a bottle of wine, he produced another from the basket. She came to the conclusion that he must have used an undetectable extension charm, as there was no way he could have carried all that food and a seemingly infinite supply of wine in such a small basket. By the time it was dark, both their heads were more than slightly fuzzy, but neither of them cared. They were still warm, comfortable, well fed, drunk and most importantly – they were still together.

"Remember the last time we talked about coming here?" She giggled. He stared at her. He knew exactly what she was talking about, but his mouth wouldn't listen to his brain telling him to say words. She didn't speak, clearly wanting him to actually say something.  
"I told you this is how I'd propose."  
"Yeah," she was still giggling quietly. He was quite certain it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.  
"I still would, if that was an option." He slurred his words, but the sentence sobered her up immediately. She had been lying lazily across the blanket, but sat up. She thought for a moment before replying, against her better judgement.  
"I would still say yes, if that was an option."

All of a sudden, he was kissing her passionately. They both quickly ran out of breath, but it didn't stop them behaving like teenagers. They were both had only one thing on their minds. The other part of that conversation they had had four years ago – the part about the mind-blowing and blanket-ruining sex.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

She told him she had news. He told her he had news too. She let him go first, which she was now beginning to regret. His news was that he had a new job – coaching the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. She was over the moon for him. It had broken his heart when he had injured himself towards the end of his school Quidditch career – essentially ruining any chance of playing professionally. Despite being absolutely thrilled for him, she needed him to shut up – he had been going on and on for quite some time now – before she bottled it and didn't share her news. She wasn't sure how he would take it. Last time, it had ended their relationship. This time, however, the circumstances were quite different.

"Anyway," he finally got to the end of his story. "Enough from me. You said you had big news too." She was nervous, but a good kind of nervous – she thought it was a good kind of nervous anyway. Like nerves before a Quidditch match. She really hoped this would end in a best case scenario – even although she wasn't sure what that was yet.  
"Yeah, um," she mumbled a bit, trying to decide whether to break the news gently or just throw herself off her broom. "Oh look, there's the waiter. Do you want that wine topped up?" She was thankful for the distraction, but it didn't last long.  
"Oh, just spit it out would you?" He laughed, not bothering to attract the waiter's attention.  
"You're sure?" He didn't answer, he only raised his eyebrow. She took this to mean 'yes'. "Okay," she took a deep breath. "So, we're kind of going to have a baby." She spoke so quickly that he almost missed it.  
"You're pregnant again?" He spoke slowly. He didn't want it to be true. He felt like he had only just gotten her back, and he wasn't ready to let her go again but a baby had come between them before.  
"Technically, we are pregnant." She put emphasis on the word 'we' and pointed back and forth between the two of them.  
"Fuck off," he whispered in total disbelief, laughing slightly, with a huge grin splitting across his face. "It's mine?"  
"Without a doubt."  
"How can you be sure?"  
"Because Harry and I have hardly spoken since that fight, never mind anything else."  
"So just to be clear, you're pregnant with my baby?" He was totally giddy with joy. This reaction was a million times better than she could have hoped for. "Oh my god, we're having a baby!" He as good as yelled, laughing his head off. Given the adulterous nature of their relationship, kids had never been a thought so she had prepared herself for all possible reactions – genuinely expecting him to walk away. Even in some of her better imagined outcomes, she never thought he'd be happy about it. Most of the people in the small restaurant had heard his outburst. They were all looking, smiling and a crowd in the corner – who appeared to be rather drunk – had all stood up and were clapping loudly. All these strangers were so happy for them. It would have been a heart-warming sight, had either of them noticed. They were too absorbed in each other to care.

More than ever, they wanted the night to last. After dinner, they stayed in muggle London and wandered the streets. It was a cool night, but my no means a cold one, and there was a gentle mist of rain falling from the sky. He had offered her his jacket more times than either of them could count, but she had told him to keep it. There was no point in him getting a chill. After a while, he broke what had been a long and comfortable silence.  
"Does Potter know?"  
"Not yet, but I'm probably going to have to tell him at some point."  
"Probably," he laughed. Potter may not have paid his wife half the attention she deserved, but he paid enough attention to notice that she was going to get bigger – not to mention the fact that in about eight months there would be another child in his home. "How well do you reckon that's going to go?"  
"I think that depends how much of the truth I tell him. But I don't want to dwell on any of that just now. Let's just enjoy the moment." He agreed wholeheartedly. Potter had ruined enough for them; he wasn't taking this night away as well. They fell back into comfortable silence, walking hand in hand, and watching the muggle world go by.

Eventually they reached a place that she recognised to be Leicester Square from some photographs her friend had once shown her. The square was a hive of activity, and they made their way over to a crowd who were watching some street performers. They watched the three young men do a funny style of dance, then broke away from the crowd to take a seat on a wall.  
"Okay," he turned to take both her hands in his, "hypothetical situation."  
"Right?" She was cautious, as she always was when he had his 'idea face' on.  
"Hypothetically," he drew the word out, "take Potter out of the equation," he could see she was going to stop him from talking. "No, just go with it. I'm not asking you to commit to anything. It's all hypothetical, okay?" She nodded and he continued. "Okay, take Potter out the equation, and pretend for a second you didn't tell me your pregnant." Again, she nodded. "And say, hypothetically, sitting here in the rain was more romantic than a picnic on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere."  
"It is."  
"I agree. Now if, hypothetically, I was in a position to propose," his tone had lightened now as he struggled to fight the laughter. Him proposing had become somewhat of a running joke between them.  
"Like down on one knee?"  
"Fuck it, yeah, like down on one knee." He slid off the wall and onto his left knee, still holding both her hands in his, barely keeping himself together due to laughing. "Ginny Weasley, I love you with all my hypothetical heart. Will you do me the hypothetical honour of hypothetically marrying me?"  
"Yes," she too was struggling to talk through the laughter, "yes! A million times yes! Of course I'll hypothetically marry you!" Her reaction was way over the top, causing them to laugh more and more. They both stood up and hugged each other tight, as everyone who saw clapped – thinking, of course, that it was a real proposal. It was a struggle for them to stand up for long, as both had terrible stitches in their sides and tears streaming down their cheeks from laughing so hard. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like this with her husband. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this with anyone who wasn't her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

They lay on the couch watching the dying fire. His arm was draped around her waist and he was lazily tracing patterns across her barely-there baby bump.  
"What are you thinking about?" He asked.  
"Nothing. What're you thinking about?"  
"Nothing."  
"You're lying." She looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze.  
"So are you." He smiled.  
"You first." She offered.  
"No, I shouldn't even be thinking about what I'm thinking about." The smile on his face was getting wider. Clearly whatever he was thinking about was making him happy. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking because, as per usual, she was bringing bad news to the room. She wasn't ready to ruin the mood yet. She needed the lazy Sunday afternoon paradise to last forever.  
"Tell me anyway."  
"Promise you won't get upset. I know it's not my place to be thinking about this stuff, given the situation and all that, but I can't help it. And anyway,"  
"Oh, just spit it out already." She laughed, cutting his ramblings short.  
"Okay, yeah. I've been thinking about names." He spoke tentatively, unsure how she would take it.  
"Really?" She hadn't been expecting him to say that.  
"I know, I know. I don't get a say."  
"Are you mad? Of course you have a say!"  
"Really?" This time it was he who hadn't expected her to say that.  
"Well he is your son after all."  
"You don't know it's a boy."  
"I have a feeling." She had the same feeling with both her previous pregnancies, and she had been right. This baby was a boy too, she just knew. "Anyway, shut up, what were you thinking?"  
"Well, you know I think that it's a girl and it got me thinking. Obviously, she's going to be a Potter, so it would be nice if her name was a family name. It's a daft tradition, you can say no if you hate it. Pretty much everyone in my family has some kind of plant related name."  
"Right," she was hesitant, he wasn't selling this well.  
"I know what you're thinking, but we could name her after a flower."  
"I actually kind of love that." She smiled. She was adamant the baby was a boy, but either way she wanted him to pick the name. It's not like Harry would care anyway. "But it can't be Rose, because my brother's daughters name is Rose."  
"I don't like the name Rose. I had a great aunt Rose. Terrifying woman, honestly." He shook his head theatrically, ridding his mind of childhood memories. "I've got two in mind. I like one more than the other, but whatever you think. I like Fearne and Daisy."  
"Daisy is really pretty. I love it."  
"Me too." He kissed her.  
"It's a shame it's a boy, because it's perfect." She laughed.  
"It's not a boy."  
"Yes it is, and I'm calling him Oliver – unless you have any objections."  
"Objections, no. Questions, yes. Won't Potter get suspicious?"  
"I doubt it, considering he knows." She couldn't look at him.  
"I'm sorry," he sat up, forcing her to do so as well, "he fucking what?!"  
"Yeah, I told him the baby wasn't his."  
"Are you mad?" He was almost laughing.  
"We were fighting – again – and he said some horrible things, things that hurt and I wanted to hurt him back."  
"Are you okay? He didn't, do anything, did he?" Every time she told him about one of her and Harry's fights, he asked her if Potter had hit her again. He hadn't, but even if he had, she wouldn't have told him.  
"No, he didn't. Honestly, he didn't seem to care. All he asked was who, and I didn't tell him anything. He jumped to conclusions though and he thinks Dean Thomas fathered my bastard child." She laughed.  
"But Dean and Seamus," he laughed so hard he couldn't finish his sentence.  
"I know," she practically squealed, fighting for breath.  
"I don't want to point out the obvious, but won't Potter notice the baby isn't black?"  
"I don't think Harry would notice if the baby was part troll to be honest. He isn't exactly observant." She was glad Harry knowing about their relationship wasn't an issue. They were able to laugh about her failing marriage, and that was a good sign.

"So, he really wasn't bothered?" He had been expecting, every day for years, that Potter had found out and was on his way to kill him.  
"No, he was definitely bothered, but he wasn't surprised. I think he's always kind of known something was off but didn't want to believe it, y'know?"  
"I suppose; he may be an arsehole but he's not an idiot." Silence fell. They both agreed he was an arsehole, but it was unspoken until this moment. "Leave him." He insisted, "It's not too late to go to America. We'll take the boys too obviously." She didn't say anything for a very long time. He thought the suspense might kill him.  
"I'm more tempted than ever. But it's not just about me now. I have to think about him, about our public image. It's not fair on any of us, I know that. Merlin, I should have left with you before the wedding. If I could turn back time, I would."  
"I nearly asked that day. 'Speak now or forever hold your peace' and all that."  
"When you walked into my room that day, I told myself that if you had asked I would have run." This brought tears to his eyes. They had been so close, yet so far.  
"I guess it just wasn't meant to be." His voice wobbled.  
"It just wasn't meant to be," she agreed solemnly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

They lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Neither of them were thinking about anything in particular. They were enjoying the fact that they would have four uninterrupted days of each other's company. Potter was away on business, and she had dropped the boys off at one of her brothers' – he couldn't recall which brother mind you – because they were just too much for her at the moment. Already having two mental toddlers, on top of being ten days overdue, was exhausting for her. He wasn't surprised that she was nearly asleep on his chest. He had one hand in her hair, the other resting on her huge bump. He listened to her breathing and tried to stay as still as he could. She hadn't long gotten comfortable and he didn't want to move. For the first time in a few months now, she seemed comfortable – although he knew she probably wasn't.

"Olly?" She spoke quietly.  
"I thought you were sleeping."  
"Nah, not quite. Tell me a story?" She asked.  
"What do you mean?"  
"I mean tell me a story. One I haven't heard yet. Tell me about one of your Hogwarts adventures."  
"You know all my school stories. My days at Hogwarts consisted of classes and Quidditch and not much more. Although," he remembered one incident he hadn't told her about. "There was this one time, in sixth year, me and a few of the lads from the Quidditch team – your brothers included – decided it would be a great laugh to jinx the Slytherin team's broomsticks. Nothing serious of course, just a simple charm to make the broom fly the opposite way from what they wanted it too." He paused to scratch the end of his nose, not that it would have prevented him from talking whilst doing so. "We snuck down to the broom sheds one afternoon before their scheduled practice and jinxed all the brooms, and then we hid in the stands during the practice to see the carnage unfold. Oh, it was great fun. Marcus Flint just about came off his broom! McGonagall pulled the four team captains into her office the next day and gave us all a stern talking to about 'playing fair'. Nobody could prove it was us, but I think she knew anyway because I still swear to this day that she winked at me knowingly as I left her office that day." He chuckled lightly and she smiled into his chest. He couldn't see her face, but he felt her cheeks moving.  
"She once told me that the only difference between foul and fair play was getting caught."  
"She's a wise woman. There's nothing wrong with trying to knock someone off their broom every now and then."

They would have fallen into a comfortable silence again, had she not spoken.  
"Tell me another story."  
"I don't have any more stories to tell." He shrugged. If he had thought about it, then he could have come up with something, but nothing was springing to mind immediately.  
"Then make one up." She insisted.  
"Why do you want to hear my stories when you tell much better ones than I ever could?"  
"Because I need the distraction." She told him honestly, sitting up slowly as she did so. He only stared at her, face blank. "Olly," she took both his hands in hers. "I need you not to freak out on me, okay? You're not allowed to panic." He nodded frantically, his facial expression unchanging. "I'm pretty sure I'm in labour."  
He blinked a few times before speaking, "Okay," he started slowly. "Why the bloody hell are we not going to a hospital?!"  
"So much for not freaking out!" She thought. Although, in fairness, she could have told him differently – more gently. "Because," she told him firmly, "I've done this twice already. Believe me, we're better off here than in a hospital. If we go now we'll just be sitting around for hours until any of the fun stuff starts." Her tone could not have been more sarcastic when she said 'fun stuff'. "It's more comfortable here than in a hospital bed."  
"Okay," he was talking to himself rather than to her. "Okay, the baby's coming. Right, yeah, okay. Calm. Don't panic, it's fine."

"Olly, look at me." He did. She could see the fear and panic written all over his face. It was the same face Harry had when she went into labour the first time. She took his hands in hers and smiled reassuringly. "It really is going to be okay. You're going to be a dad!" He couldn't help but smile too, even if he was shitting bricks.  
"You're right, it's going to be fine." He couldn't convince either of them. "What do you need me to do?"  
"Right now, just stay calm. In a few hours, you're going to have to keep me calm. You're going to need to be the voice of reason, understand?"  
"A few hours?" He looked genuinely surprised? Confused? She couldn't tell.  
"Didn't you read any of those books we bought a few months ago? This isn't one of those 'over in five minutes' type things." She laughed gently. She had been experiencing slight twinges most of the morning, and hadn't thought anything of them at first. She was now sure they were contractions. They hadn't been too bad in the beginning, but she was starting to get uncomfortable when they hit. Before long they would be undeniably painful, so she thought she was better to tell him now.  
"No, of course I read the books." He told her. She strongly suspected he was lying, but she didn't say anything about it. There wasn't exactly time for him to read them now. He would just have to, as muggles say, 'learn on the job'. She was glad it was happening now. She wanted him to be there. She had been absolutely thrilled a few days ago when her husband announced that he was going on his business trip, even though she would most likely have the baby while he was away. He didn't care, and neither did she.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

She lay in the uncomfortable hospital bed absolutely exhausted. He lay next to her gently stroking her hair. He had been right after all; the baby was a girl. Their beautiful baby girl. A healer had just taken her down to the nursery a few minutes ago to let both the baby and her mother rest, but he already missed her.

"Call her Lily." He whispered, not wanting to disturb the peace in the room.  
"But we agreed on Daisy. It's perfect."  
"I know. But Lily was his mother's name, wasn't it?" She nodded. "Then you should call her Lily. I don't want him resenting her, and maybe if she has his mother's name, it'll make things easier on him. And it keeps my silly family tradition going."  
"Are you sure? You loved Daisy so much."  
"I thought it was perfect, but then I saw her. No name is ever going to be perfect enough for her. All that crap you said about your life changing when you see your baby is true. Name her Lily." Again, she nodded. She was too tired to use her words. "Do you want me to get in touch with your family?" He asked. They hadn't bothered telling anyone before coming to the hospital. She had insisted they didn't. She wanted him by her side, and if her family had been here they would only have gotten in the way.  
"Yes. And yours, if you want."  
"Only my mother. There's as many Wood's as there are Weasley's. They don't all need to know." He stood up and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be back soon."  
"Olly?" She called him back when he was nearly out the door.  
"Yeah?"  
"I love you."  
"I love you too."

When he left, she reached for her bag. She hissed in pain as she did so, but persevered. She pulled out a quill, a piece of parchment and an envelope before dumping the bag on the floor again.

 _Baby was born. It's a girl. Named her Lily._

She stuffed the note in the envelope and addressed it to her husband. A healer came in to check on her, and she asked the young man to take it up to the owlry. She had fallen asleep only seconds after he left, and was woken up by a commotion in the corridor. She could only assume that her family had now arrived. Her mother and father sat with her for a while. Her mother fussed over her, as it was her nature. They asked questions about why her husband wasn't there – what they actually wanted to know was why he was there. They didn't bother to lie, but she hid most of the truth. She told them that her husband wasn't her daughters father, but didn't tell them how unhappy she was in her marriage. She made it sound like she had had a one night stand with her friend. He added to her lie, saying that because her husband was away she had told him when she went in to labour. He told them he didn't want her to be alone. The rest of the day was spent telling her family varying degrees of the truth and playing pass the parcel with the baby. His mother arrived much later, after most of her family had left. She brought with her clothes, toys and his blanket from when he was a baby. She had cried, saying she never expected to have grandchildren – that he was always more interested in Quidditch than girls. She fawned over her hours-old granddaughter. She fussed over her son and his lover. She said the baby looked just like him, although her family thought the baby looked just like her. They told her the truth of the situation. He hadn't been happy about it and had tried to stop the mother of his daughter several times, but she couldn't help it. She felt like she owed his mother an explanation.

The day had been a happy one, a perfect one, until late in the evening. His mother had left and they were sitting alone in the room when they heard two young healers passing the door, gossiping about how Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was in the hospital. It caused the blood in their veins to run cold.  
"Go, now." She told him. "He never has to know you were here."  
"No. I'm not leaving you. Not today, not ever if I can help it."  
"Oliver," the tone of her voice and the use of his full name made his blood run cold for the second time in a few seconds. "If he sees you he'll kill you."  
"No he won't." He was standing his ground on this one. "Worst case scenario, he punches me. I'll just hit him back twice as hard, for the both of us."  
"That's why you need to go. You're as angry with him as he is with me. I'm not having you sink to his level."  
"I'm not leaving."  
"Yes you are."

This continued on for several minutes until they heard two steps of footsteps in the corridor.  
"Just this way, Mr Potter." They heard a healer say.  
"You sit in that chair," she warned, "As if you so much as flinch I'm will use a full body-bind curse on you. Understood?"  
"Yup." He forgot how scary she could be when she wanted to. He could live with their agreement though, as long as she didn't make him leave. They sat in tense silence as the footsteps drew closer and closer.  
"Your wife is just in here Mr Potter. And congratulations."

Inside the room was silent. They heard the healer walking away again before the door swung open so violently that it really was a miracle it stayed on its hinges.  
"Well," her husband spat venomously. "Where is it then?"


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

They hadn't seen each other in a few years now. They had nearly been caught sneaking around, and the rumours running around the entire wizarding community had been enough to tear them apart. They remained friends, spoke regularly, and he got to see his daughter whenever they could arrange it. They had agreed it was best not to tell her that he was her father. She was still with her husband – although they were far from happy. He had married a girl he met through his flourishing career as the Chudley Cannons coach – the best one of all time if you believed the Daily Prophet, which most people did as the proof lay in the league table. He loved his wife, he really truly did, but he would never get over the fiery red head. She had torn his life apart like a hurricane, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Eleven years had passed since the day their daughter was born. On the first of September, the Potters made their way to Kings Cross as per usual. The girl would finally get to join her brothers on the train. She clambered on, ready to start her adventure. The train whistled, ready to depart and she waved frantically to her mother and father. They waved back enthusiastically. Her mother's smile hid tears; her father's hid a vaguely relieved look – not that she noticed either of these things. She saw her mother and father talking, although she didn't care what about.

"Is he here?"  
"Who?" She asked, knowing fine well he meant her daughters father.  
"Don't play stupid. Is he here?" He snarled.  
"I don't know. I haven't seen him."

Unknown to the young girl, her mother and her father, her real father stood in the back of the crowd. He held back the tears as he watched his baby, his first born daughter, leave the station. For the first time in a long time, all he wanted to do was hold his daughters mother. He didn't know, and would never find out, that at the front of the platform, his daughters mother was wishing for exactly the same thing.


End file.
